It Isn't Easy
by LalondeBii
Summary: A short story of Bucky lamenting over how being in love with Steve isn't easy. Edited 9/12/18


Loving Steve isn't easy.

Far from it, actually.

It's painful when you learn he'll die before thirty, it's heartbreaking when he wheezes unnaturally it's world shattering when you realize that this frail, helpless boy holds your aching soul in the palm of his hands, grasping it tightly with his oblivious, maudlin fingers.

'Who can love me?' He never asks, but he thinks it and you hear it nonetheless.

'Me,' you want to say, 'I can love you, I already do,' but your mouth stays closed, and he wouldn't listen anyway.

'I love you too,' you hate what you know will come next, 'you're my best friend. I just wish-' and how you wish too!

No, you never say anything because you know he can't accept that he _can_ be loved, that he _is_ loved. You wish you could go back in time, do something different so that maybe he wouldn't be so ready to believe himself unlovable.

But you can't.

Loving Steve isn't easy.

Then the war comes and Steve is so ready to rush off, to leave you behind in his haste to _be someone_ to someone else. Who apparently isn't you and will _never_ be you. _Could_ _never_ be you.

You love him anyway. You want to say, 'You've always been someone to me, Steve.'

You know he won't get it, he'll blush and fidget but in the end he'll declare, 'I want to be in love with someone. I want someone to be in love with _me._ ' Then your conversation will move on from the war to romance and you can already feel a part of your heart crumble like paper with each hoplessly romantic thought of his.

None of them include you.

And it's not easy loving Steve. It never was.

When the inevitable day comes that he's going to leave and join the army, so far away from you, you're grateful to have already been drafted, to have already been selected and trained.

Maybe you'll cross each other's path in the field, maybe you'll fight side by side. You try not to think of his many, many ailments, you try to ignore the knowledge that one of you isn't going to make it.

You try not to think that if given a choice, you'd let Steve live and take his place instead.

You set off to war, unable to take your eyes off the sad, beautiful picture Steve makes on the dock and you already feel lost.

Your boat splits through the water, cutting it's way to England. You wonder where Steve is before going to bed each night. Is he safe? Is he warm? Did he take his medications?

You smile politely at your new teammates, your new family, as you settle down together at camp. That night, while the guys are around the fire and talking about moving to the front tomorrow, you write a letter.

You write all the things you couldn't say, all the things you wished you were brave enough to do. You lable it your farewell letter and address it to Steve. At the bottom you sign, in a shaking hand,

 _'It wasn't ever easy loving you, but it was worth every second._ _-Bucky'_

You hand it over to your Commander and he puts it in a neat little box with all the rest. Already your letter's edges are worn soft, the crease in the paper a formless fold, and the envelope hardly fares better.

It wasn't easy loving Steve, but it pulls you through flooded, death filled trenches and bloody battles, pushing you through to the other side until you're captured.

You've almost forgotten the letter by now, unsure of where it went, but you hold a picture of Steve and think, 'This is enough. This _has_ to be enough.'

In your other hand a newspaper clipping of Captain America lays crumpled. You think Steve might like the guy and hate him too. He's perfect, his body in peak condition, Steve would think he needs to join the fight. However, he would also be unable to deny that he helps by selling war bonds.

And, like an angel come to you, Captain America is there and it's _Steve_. You think you could cry when he smiles at you while indicating your new differing heights, declaring proudly, "Now it's _you_ who looks up to _me_."

You can only think to respond with utter truth, "I've always looked up to you kid."

You're so happy he's healthy, so happy that he's going to live. You remember your farewell letter now, knowing that Steve couldn't have received it when you look at his unknowing and open face. You open your mouth to say it (I love you), prepared to tell him everything (I love you), uncaring of the fact you're both surrounded by people who are listening in, 'I'm in love with you.'

Except.

You can't.

Nothing comes out.

Then the moment's over and Steve blushes, dipping his head in that ever endearing way of his, unable to respond to complements like usual.

And when Steve turns around, his eyes landing on a woman, "Peggy Carter," you know he's in love and it's over for you. Not that you ever really had a shot in the first place.

It's not easy, loving Steve. It rips at your heart, tearing away chunks and violating what's left viciously. But he was never yours to begin with and you can't regret it. Nor can you stop it.

You'll love Steve until there's nothing of you left to offer, until your heart has been rendered to dust and dirt. Even then, you think you'll love him still.

So you smile and tease, all the while feeling jealousy and bitterness burn your throat like stomic acid on the way up, but you resolutely push Steve into the arms of his happiness while emptying yours. He asks you to join his personal platoon, the Howling Commandos, and you agree readily, unable to leave his side after finally getting him back. Even if it feels as if the air has been knocked out of you everytime you see him and know that he's not yours.

It's painful and exhilarating. You fight side by side, becoming closer in a way you never dared to dream of before, but it hurts because you know it'll never go farther.

Funny how it feels as if you've been left behind even as he stands by your side.

Loving Steve is Hell on Earth.

Loving Steve is the best thing to have ever happened to you.

It's on a particularly gruelling mission that your luck runs out and fate comes calling. You can't help but think back to your realization all that time ago, the fact that one of you won't make it.

You're glad it's you who falls off that train and not Steve.

As you fall back you watch Steve's face. It's twisting up as if you're already dead and you can't help but note lovingly that his crying face is still as ugly as it's always been, serum or no.

Then you're gone and you can't help but wish you'd have kissed him.

When you wake up you're in a Hydra base and you wish fervently that Steve will come save you. Someone really. Anyone.

They don't.

They make you forget.

But loving Steve has never been easy and that pain carries over each time they erase your memories. You don't understand it, all you really know is that it's pure and beautiful and not something you want to tell anyone about.

So you say nothing.

You're made to kill and that pain worsens, deepens so wickedly that you can't help but to look for a scar over your heart, thinking that surely such a violent lashing should leave a mark.

It never does.

You're grateful to the pain, you know it's keeping you from tipping over the edge into true insanity. Maybe _you_ can't remember anything but your body does and that's enough for now. It reminds you that you, too, existed at one point.

When they put you to sleep you've taken to the habit of resting your hand over your invisible festering wound, guarding it greedily in the only way you know how.

Eventually they wake you up and give you a mission that sends that agony into a volcano's worth of turbulence and burning.

"Kill Captain America."

After you've acknowledge the order given they send you off to hunt him down immediately. You dare not question the decaying facility housing you, or why there's only one person there when you wake up. You've learned the hard way not to ask. Pain, remembered only by the body, lances through your mind and you drop it

You find him in New York, and when you lay eyes on him something in your mind shifts. Suddenly that impenetrable wall between your memories and you turns to heavy fog. It's not enough to stop you, but when you attack and he calls your name... he looks so shattered, pinned there beneath your weight, and the fog slowly begins to lift just enough for you to know,

'I don't want this.'

You jerk away, pushing back and watching him sit up warily before taking off at a dead sprint. You're gone before he even thinks to chase you.

It's a long time before you remember everything, with much of that time being spent on evading the Avengers and picking up the pieces of a life you'd forgotten.

You remember what that pain in your chest is, you remember everything about Steve with more clarity than should be possible, and eventually you make your way back to him.

You walk into the tower uninterrupted, uncaring if you get caught. Just before you can hit the button on the elevator, however, Steve comes tumbling out of a stairway door to the right of you, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, looking as dashing as ever.

You smile, yet before you can open your mouth to finally, finally tell him what you've always been afraid to, he gathers you up in his arms and doesn't let go, even when the doors to the elevator ding open and the rest of the Avengers stand within the contraption, gazing out at you awkwardly.

Stark coughs and makes a comment about touching moments before pressing another button so the doors close again, giving you and Steve a little more privacy together.

After what seems like years, Steve finally pulls back and digs his hand in his left jean pocket.

"I- I read the letter you wrote me, Bucky," He says, pulling out an old, tattered scrap of paper that appears to be holding together by imagination and will alone, "I just," here he breaths as if bracing himself, "I just wanted to say, 'me too'. I love you, too."

He looks ashamed now, worrying gently at the fadded script on the letter. He finally manages to look at you, continuing on when he sees your expression.

"I'll admit that I didn't know what I felt at first, but after that it was fear. Bucky, we grew up in a different time, people weren't as accepting as today and I know it was part of your motivation to keep quiet too. But it was also because I loved not just you, but Peggy as well. I'm not asking-"

Before he can continue rambling on, you kiss him sweetly.

"I love you." You say up into his stunned and smiling face.

Loving Steve isn't easy, but you know it's all worth it.


End file.
